


Impressions

by akh, everytimeyougo



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akh/pseuds/akh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytimeyougo/pseuds/everytimeyougo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You came into my thoughts, you filled them. It felt good."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is intended to be a series of missing scene one-shots that are only loosely tied together. It's still a work in progress, so updates won't be as frequent as our other fic, but since each chapter can more or less stand on its own, you're not going to be left hanging at any point.

_“I laid out the cabin today. It's going to have an easterly view. You should see the light that we get here when the sun comes from behind those mountains. It's almost heavenly. It reminds me of you.”_

_The Old Man falls silent then, lost to the tantalising pull of his memories. One by one, he extracts them from the far reaches of his mind, telling himself their story, as he will do every day, from now until he finally joins her. The memories are all he has left; he’ll be damned if he loses them too._

_Looking back upon the beginning from here at the end, the very core of him transformed by the intervening years, it’s tempting to rework the past, to assign gravitas to their first meeting that wasn’t there at the time, some sense of fate fulfilled, of things falling into place. All this has happened before, all this will happen again. But that’s not how it was. In reality, the day he met the love of his life, all he felt was annoyance._

_***_

“Sir, the Secretary of Education’s plane has docked,” Gaeta advised him as he walked in to CIC. “Mr. Doral is meeting her, and showing to her quarters as we speak.”

“Mr. Doral?” he asked.

“The public relations officer from the government, sir. He’s going to give her a quick tour of the ship before the ceremony.”

Right. The greasy little fellow in the loud shirt. Well that was just fine; he was welcome to her. The last thing he wanted to do today was deal with the frakking politicians who were stealing his command out from under him.

"I'll be in the wardroom,” he told Gaeta. Lee was supposed to be there. He just wished he knew what he should say to him.

It was just his luck that Doral and Secretary Roslin were walking down that particular corridor when he exited CIC.

 _Gods_ , Bill groaned inwardly, his eyes darting quickly to his left and then right, looking for a last minute escape, but it was too late. He had already been noticed. The Doral fellow was leading the Secretary right towards him.

Bill halted, his mouth setting into a grim line as he took a deep breath and waited for the now inevitable meeting. While the pair approached, he took the opportunity to observe his visitor.

He had seen pictures of her before, of course. Perhaps even a few fleeting news clips concerning Adar’s cabinet, but she had never been front and center in those. In fact, there was nothing distinctive he could remember about her, but the fact that she served in Adar’s cabinet in the first place was not a great recommendation. The fact that she was here to decommission his ship and turn it into a museum was even worse.

“Commander Adama, I presume,” the woman spoke as soon as she reached him. She had extended her hand and Bill waited just a beat before taking it: his quiet, petulant act of rebellion.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied curtly. She had green eyes, he noticed. They looked as cold as the smile on her face appeared rehearsed. Bill was reminded again why he couldn’t stand politicians. Everything about them was fake.

“You must be Secretary Roslin,” he said then, realizing it was his turn to add something to this idle conversation.

“I am,” she said, releasing his hand and returning hers to her side. “If I may say, your ship is quite an impressive sight. I’ve never seen anything quite so large and threatening.”

He thought he detected something teasing in her tone, but when he looked directly at her he could see nothing unprofessional in her expression, save perhaps a slight narrowing of her eyes that could mean anything or nothing.

“That’s the idea,” he told her. “Hard to protect the Colonies while looking warm and welcoming.”

The Secretary hummed noncommittally. “Will you walk with us, Commander? Mr. Doral here was just giving me the two cubit tour.”

“For a short distance,” he agreed reluctantly, since they seemed to be going in the same direction. “It’s a busy day.”

“I’m sure,” she murmured. “So what do you think, Commander, of the museum preparations? It’s going to be an incredible learning opportunity for the Colonies' children, wouldn’t you say?”

It probably would be; he couldn’t deny that, nor the fact that it was imperative they teach the next generation about their past mistakes in order to help them avoid making the same ones. He just couldn’t believe this was the best way. Taking away a part of the Colonies’ defense system was never going to set well with him.

But then, he’d had that argument already, and with more important people that this prim and proper little woman who would probably cry if he raised his voice to her.

As they continued down the corridor, he took over tour guide duties from Doral who seemed to have little understanding of anything he was saying. Bill had already given this tour numerous times recently with various dignitaries, so he was able to speak from rote and focus most of his attention on watching the Secretary’s expression change as he spoke.

After a while it became clear to Bill that though she appeared mostly to be paying attention, there were moments when her mind seemed to wander elsewhere – moments when he needed to clear his throat or repeat what he had just said to regain her attention. Bill was sure it was nothing personal, and on any other day he likely wouldn’t even have given it a second thought, but today of all days it grated him and only added to the many irritations of an already unpleasant occasion. What signified the end of his life’s work to him, was clearly to her just one more official appearance that she hadn’t been able to get out of. Bill hadn’t expected sympathy, but he might have hoped for at least the courtesy of listening.

As if realizing just then that her attention had once again been elsewhere, the Secretary seemed to rouse herself and, flashing what Bill judged to be an apologetic smile, she made an effort to appear more engaged by asking him a question:

“Is it really true that none of the systems aboard this ship have been upgraded since the Cylon war?”

Bill shook his head. Civilians. Always so clueless.

“It’s a common misconception,” he explained patiently. If she was willing to make an effort to appear interested, he could make an effort to appear civil. “There are certain aspects of Galactica’s core systems that have remained the same since the day the ship was first built, but there are others that have been modernized over the years, some of them many times over.”

“Hmm,” the Secretary hummed – a low, smooth sound that Bill might have enjoyed hearing at some other time, in some other context, from somebody who wasn’t the Secretary of Education. Now he was only left wondering what this particular ‘hmm’ had meant.

“If you're worried that the systems aren’t old enough for the museum you have in mind…” he began defensively, but the Secretary only smiled – an irritating half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oh, no,” she assured him before he could finish. Bill thought he could almost see a slight twinkle in her eye after all. “This ship looks perfectly old enough to be a museum.”

Bill wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or insulted on behalf of his ship.

“Of course we'll have to do a bit more modernizing before we’re ready to open the museum to the public,” Secretary Roslin continued, either unaware or unconcerned with Bill’s chagrin. “We need more restroom facilities; your…mess, I believe you call it, will be turned into a full-service cafeteria; a state-of-the-art computer network will be installed.”

Bill almost choked. Only his hard-earned but deeply resented diplomatic skills saved him from barking out an order she most certainly would not follow. Instead he gritted his teeth, his fists clenched as he struggled to hold his temper in check. Shouldn’t a teacher…a teacher…of all godsdammed people, know what a networked computer system could lead to? Had led to not all that long ago? She wasn’t a young woman, this Secretary Roslin. Younger than him probably, but not so young that the war would be a distant thing that happened to other people. Surely she had a father, a brother, an uncle who served. What the frak was wrong with her?

Only when he felt he had sufficiently reined in his anger, did he speak.

“With all due respect, Madam Secretary, there will be no networked computers aboard this ship.”

The Secretary paused. Bill expected to see reason dawning on her face but instead she only tilted her head, quirked one eyebrow, and then began walking again, clearly expecting Bill to follow.

“You do understand, Commander Adama, that this ship is about to be decommissioned?” she asked when he caught up with her.

Bill nodded, grinding his teeth. Of course he understood. That was not the point. “Madam Secretary…” he began.

“This network is going to be established purely for the benefit of the teachers and students,” the woman interrupted him. “It has nothing to do with your weapons systems which, need I remind you, will all be rendered inoperative. It tells people things like where the restroom is and…”

“It’s an integrated computer network and I will not have it aboard this ship,” Bill cut in with finality he hoped to silence the Secretary. The fact that he was having this conversation with the Secretary of Education, who should have known better, only added insult to injury.

To make matters worse, she was not yet done.

The next thing Bill knew, he was being teased for actually being afraid of computers. Did this woman have no concept of how battlestars functioned? Apparently not.

"No, there are many computers on this ship. But they're not networked," he told her. He could explain how they were able to maximize their computing power in ways that did not compromise the security of the Fleet and the Colonies, but clearly this woman was so utterly convinced of her own superiority, it would be a waste of his time.

"A computerized network would simply make it faster and easier for the teachers to be able to teach- " she said, her tone exasperated, patronizing.

He bristled inwardly, reaching the limit of his patience. Frak diplomacy; after today he was a private citizen with all the rights that go along with it. "Let me explain something to you," he said, tone still even and polite as he put her solidly in her place. This was still his ship. "Many good men and women lost their lives aboard this ship because someone wanted a faster computer to make life easier. I'm sorry that I'm inconveniencing you or the teachers, but I will not allow a networked computerized system to be placed on this ship while I'm in command. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." she said, nodding.

"Good. Excuse me." He walked off, knowing it was pointless. His command was now numbered in hours, and she had merely decided to humour him. They'd have their computer network in place by week's end.

Maybe she was right about him. But maybe she should be afraid too.

***

_Bill shifts on the ground, turning to look at the mound he has built, but he can see nothing of Laura in it now. Instead, he can almost feel her in the sun that warms his face, in the grass that softens the ground underneath him, and in the wind that whispers in his ears._

_Now, with the blessed wisdom of hindsight, he can almost smile at the memory of their first meeting. He - too full of his own misery to see beyond a politician's facade. She - too preoccupied with her own condition to try to understand his position. Two people so different from each other and yet so much the same._

_"You were carrying your burden already and I wasn't making your day any easier," he speaks softly to her, reaching out to touch one of the stones of her silent grave. The rock has turned warm in the sun, but it still feels wrong against his skin._

_He rests his hand on the grass instead. "Can you forgive me?" he speaks into the air._

_As if on cue, a gust of wind blows across the hilltop, ruffling Bill's hair, but it delivers no answer from beyond._

_"A computer network," he mutters to himself, shaking his head as he starts getting up. "Showing people where the head is..."_

_He pauses. Turns around - only to find no one behind him._

_"What nonsense," he finishes his thought, starting a lonely walk down the hill, pausing on every other step to look back, but always in vain._

_She is gone._


	2. Chapter 2

_The nights are the loneliest. Bill tosses and turns in his rickety cot inside his tent, but even after a long day of hard work, sleep still won't come. He misses her warm body spooned against his - her soft sighs filling the room as she sleeps, giving him the blessed assurance that she still draws breath._

_It's another sound he will never hear again, Bill realizes, and tucks the thought away in his heart to join the growing list of other painful realizations that the past days have brought upon him._

_As he gives up on sleep and steps outside, with the full moon lighting his path towards Laura's grave, Bill lets his mind wander to another time when neither of them could sleep._

_The reason had been very different, but the weariness much the same._

***

The ringing of the comm unit jolted Bill awake. He had meant to close his eyes only for two minutes, but the two had turned into five, and now his total ten minutes of break time were almost up. They would have to jump again soon.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bill reached for the comm unit and grabbed the receiver, pressing it to his ear, but with his head still fuzzy from the interrupted sleep, he did not have the presence of mind to actually say anything.

The line crackled and then a female voice reached his ear.

"Hello? Is this Commander Adama?"

Bill supressed a groan. It was the President.

“Madam President,” he said, his voice roughened by even the short amount of sleep. “What can I do for you?” He would have thought that by not returning her previous calls, he might have conveyed the message he was too busy to talk to her. Apparently not.

“Did I wake you?” Her tone of voice didn’t quite reach the level of sarcasm, but the implication was clear – _How nice to have time to sleep._

“No,” he said, shortly. Further explanation would take time he didn’t have and his sleep rotation was not in the President’s purview.

“Oh.” Silence descended over the line and he would have thought she was gone were it not for the continued chatter in the background.

“Did you need something, Madam President?” he asked, too tired for anything but directness. “Because this isn’t a good time for a social call.”

“Oh, I…I apologize for interrupting, Commander. I just wanted to give you an update on the latest head count.”

Oh. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Go ahead.”

“We’re down 300 to 49,998.”

_Frak._ That was even worse than he was expecting.

“Less the 50,000 human beings left in all of existence.” He spoke more to himself than to her, but she answered anyway.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, but there was fortitude in her words. “Pull strength from their numbers, Commander. They are why you’re doing this. You’re keeping them safe. You’re keeping me safe, and on behalf of all us, I thank you.”

With the receiver still pressed to his ear, he stood, pulling his uniform firmly into place. “Thank you, Madam President. Please keep me posted.” He returned the receiver to its cradle. He had another jump to make.

***

_"I couldn't sleep," Bill says as he sits down on the ground. He never speaks directly to the grave, but he likes to sit by it when he talks – as if there was still something of Laura hovering nearby. There isn’t. He knows it, but he has no one else to talk to. He_ wants _to talk to no one else._

_He hasn't really come here tonight to talk, anyway, but it feels better somehow to be where she is – to feel closer to her in whatever way he can. Maybe here, out in the open, sleep will finally come._

_As he lies down in the grass, eyes cast up to look at the still unfamiliar stars, his mind drifts back to where it had been moments ago._

_Their journey together had only just begun, and already they were sailing from crisis to crisis._

***

1,345 souls on board the Olympic Carrier. That was what he was going to have to tell the president.

Only moments ago they had spoken of the importance of keeping what was left of humanity alive. She had entrusted him with the safety of the entire fleet, and it had taken him exactly one FTL jump since then to lose a whole godsdamned ship.

It didn’t matter who had made the crucial mistake. He was the Commander. Ultimately it all rested on him.

“Get me the President.” Bill gave the order, bracing himself for the conversation ahead as he grabbed the receiver. 

“Commander?” The President’s voice was understandably cautious. After all, it’s not like he was in the habit of calling her with good news. It’s not like he was in the habit of calling her at all.

“Madam President.” He stopped then, not sure how to continue, how to force the words past his clenched jaw.

“Commander, did you have a reason for calling?” she prompted. If their positions were reversed, he would have been short-tempered with stress and fatigue. She only sounded concerned.

“Madam President,” he repeated, “I regret to inform you that one ship, the commercial passenger vessel known as The Olympic Carrier, did not make the last jump. Any number of things could have gone wrong, and we'll probably never know what happened, but the end result is the same. I have failed in my duty to protect that ship and her passengers.”

The silence that met his pronouncement lasted so long he began to wonder if he’d been heard. “Madam President, are you there?”

“I’m here.” Her voice was a small and broken thing, and if it was possible, he would have felt even worse. As it was, he had hit rock bottom the moment Dualla had told him the ship was lost. Now he was just numb. 

“How many?” She asked the question he knew she would. He had yet to go aboard Colonial One, but Lee had told him about the whiteboard she kept on the wall behind her desk, her reminder of what they were trying to do here – protect the people of the fleet. It was going to kill her to subtract so many.

“One thousand, three hundred, forty-five.” 

Her intake of breath was sharp, shocked, and it dispelled his earlier numbness like a knife through his heart. This woman was not a friend, not a comrade-in-arms; she was barely an ally. But in this moment they were the same.

He could almost hear her pulling the fractured pieces of herself back together over the line.

“Thank you, Commander. I will…I will adjust my records accordingly.” 

The line went dead in his hand.

***  
 _  
"That number on the whiteboard meant everything to you," Bill whispers into the air, a wistful smile touching the corners of his lips. Living together in Bill’s quarters they had developed a habit of always speaking to each in whispers after going to bed, just in case the other had already fallen asleep. He sees no reason to break that habit now._

_"It did to me, too," he admits quietly and then pauses. "What we did with the Olympic Carrier..." he begins, but doesn’t finish the thought. Even now, years later, the memory of that faithful decision haunts him. Had they made the right choice? Would any of them be here now if they had chosen differently that day?_

_It had been the first time Bill had been glad not to have to shoulder the responsibility of such a decision alone, for better or for worse, even though he perhaps should have._

_Had it not been a military decision, and as such, his call to make? Instead, he had handed the final decision over to Laura, even when he had been convinced they only had one option. Should he not have spared her the weight of those words?_

_It’s not a memory Bill likes to linger on. He knows there is no guilt trip that can change what has already been done. No second-guessing that can alter the outcome now._

_Closing his eyes, he exhales slowly to dispell the unpleasant memory and to recall another comm call instead._

***

Bill had never loved the sound of the hatch clanging shut more than he did the moment he stepped into his quarters after finally having been relieved from his shift.

The Cylons were gone. So was the Olympic Carrier and the 1,345 lives that had been on board, but after five days of almost no sleep, Bill could barely even comprehend the full meaning of what they had done. The remorse would come, he knew, but it would have to wait until after he had slept. For now, all that mattered was that the fleet was safe. There had been no new DRADIS contact since their last jump hours before and that was all he could allow himself to think of. It had to mean they had made the right choice.

_They_ …Bill’s mind drifted to the President and he shook his head slightly. He had taken her for a naïve schoolteacher, but today…He shook his head again. He didn’t have the energy to think of that perplexing woman right now.

Sleep. Sleep was what he needed and…

Just as Bill had sat down on the couch to take off his boots, the comm unit rang.

“Frak,” he muttered, getting up again with a loud sigh. If the Cylons had come back, he would offer himself as their first target practice.

“Adama,” he snapped into the receiver.

It was the President. “Commander, I’m sorry to bother you during your off time," she said.

“As long as you’re not calling to tell me they’re back, you’re forgiven,” he said, relaxing slightly. Whatever she wanted, at least it wouldn’t be that. Anything else, he could handle later.

She laughed, a light musical sound he would never have placed as coming from her. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a head count update.”

Perfect. More dead people he couldn’t protect. He rubbed his face with his free hand as he waited for her to break the news.

“You did ask me to update you, Commander,” she added, perhaps apologetically, though the peculiar note in her voice didn’t sound quite like an apology.

“You’re right, I did. Go ahead, get it over with. How many more have we lost?”

She cleared her voice, a ladylike little _ahem_ before she continued. “Commander Adama, I am pleased to inform you that, as of a couple of hours ago, our number has increased by one. A baby boy has been born on The Rising Star.”

Reflexively, his eyes welled up at her words. _A baby_. Well, wasn’t that _something_. His face split into a huge grin, skin stretched almost painfully by the unfamiliar expression. 

Maybe there was hope for them after all.

“Commander?” The President’s voice in his ear reminded him he hadn’t yet responded out loud.

“That’s…that’s wonderful news, Madam President. Thank you. You have my word I will do everything in my power to make sure that young man has a future to look forward to.”

“I know you will, Commander. As will I."

What that meant in practice, Bill didn't know. Nor, he suspected, did the President. But at least, in that, they were united. Whatever it took, they would do. They proved that to each other today.

Sleep well, Commander," she said after a beat.

"You too, Madam President."

***  
 _  
He had slept well that night, or at least what passed for well during those early confused and frightened days on the run._

_The baby boy born that day was now, through some miracle of chance and good decisions, a sturdy five year old living with his parents somewhere on this planet. “That's thanks to you, Laura,” he whispers._

_Struggling to his feet, he starts back in the direction of the tent. He thinks maybe he’ll be able to sleep now.  
_


	3. Chapter 3

  _His grief for Laura waxes and wanes as the days, weeks, and months go by. Sometimes it hibernates for long stretches of time, allowing him to concentrate on her memory without the ever present ache in his heart threatening to overpower him. Those are the good days, the days he makes the most progress on the cabin. He talks to her as he works, sometimes a running commentary of the tasks he completes, sometimes asking her opinion on some aspect of the job, sometimes simply sharing memories._

_Today is one of the good days. He has been able to imagine her with him all day, and almost believe it to be true. They talk of many things, but mostly today, of the ones left behind when they took their last Raptor flight and ended up here in the mountains._

_Of course, it’s Lee and Kara that he misses the most. With a father’s intuition he knows Lee is fine, that he’s making his way in this new world with the same commitment to doing things right that he’s always had._

_With the same intuition, he knows now that Kara, this time, is gone for good_ .   

***

He was almost asleep sitting up on the couch when the marine on duty announced her presence. It hadn’t occurred to him until just then to wonder when she left the ship following the excitement of Starbuck’s return. Apparently she hadn’t left at all.

“Madam President,” he said, struggling to his feet. “I didn’t realize you were still on board. I apologize if I’ve forgotten an appointment. It’s been a long day.”

“They’re all long now, aren’t they Commander? Please, don’t stand on my account.” She took a seat herself on the very edge of the far section of the couch. Taking his cue from her, he sat down again himself.

“We didn’t have an appointment. I just wanted to tell you, Commander, how happy I am to have been wrong about Lieutenant Thrace. I couldn’t be more thrilled that she survived her ordeal.”

He looked at her suspiciously. He was getting to know this woman better as the days passed, to understand how she thought, to recognize her gestures, the tones in her voice. He could tell her happiness over Kara was genuine, but her words just now were false. She didn’t believe she was wrong at all.

The fact was, outcome aside, neither did he.

“She’s tough,” he said at last, not yet ready to admit to anything else. It was a weak excuse and he knew it. What was worse, he could see the President knew it too.

She waited a beat. Bill could tell she was expecting him to say more, but he had nothing else to say. Instead, he watched with growing frustration as a small, knowing smile appeared on her face – a smile that seemed to suggest she thought she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Bill bristled at the thought. She couldn’t possibly even begin to guess.

For a moment they looked at each other in silence. If they had been about to enter a boxing ring, Bill thought, this was the part where they weighed the opponent.

Finally, it was the President who broke the eye contact, looking up as she exhaled quietly. If she had come to collect his admission of guilt, she’d have to work harder to extract it.

“Water?” Bill said at last, rising again from his seat on the couch.

She looked caught off guard, confused. “Hmm?”

Bill lifted his glass off the table. “A drink,” he elaborated. “Unfortunately I have nothing stronger than water to offer at this time.”

Her features seemed to soften a little. The change was somehow both strikingly clear and nearly imperceptible – a subtle change in her expression suddenly changing the air she was giving off.

“I would love a glass, thank you,” she replied. Her words were followed by a smile that looked genuine if a little uncertain. It was gone by the time Bill returned with the promised water.

“Here you are, Madam President,” he said formally as he placed the glass on the table in front of her before taking a sip from his own tumbler.

The time of stalling, he suspected, would have to come to and end now.

“Madam President,” he said, taking a seat again on the couch. “You told me you came here to tell me how glad you are that Lieutenant Thrace is still among us.” He paused and watched as the President took a sip of her drink. Then he continued: “You have told me that now. Was there anything else?”

She made a thoughtful noise, then took another sip of her water, stalling herself now, he assumed, while she decided how far she could push him today. Not very frakking far, was the answer. He had submitted to her authority earlier and had almost abandoned Kara in the process. It was the right decision, but agonisingly close to the wrong outcome. She wasn’t going to get him to praise her judgement today.

She set her water down on the coffee table. “I just…” she paused, took another sip of her water, then cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I just wanted to say that I wasn’t…I’m not unsympathetic to what it means to lose someone, Commander. I’ve lost people.”

He snorted indelicately. “We’ve all lost virtually everyone, Madam President.”

She grimaced. “Yes, yes of course. But I meant before. Loss one has had time to process, to try to live with. To vow to do anything to hold on to what little remains of someone who is gone. I understand that, Commander.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and looked her over, trying to figure out what she was up to here. Was she patronizing him? Playing on his lost child to solidify some kind of control over him? 

No. That wasn’t it. He had no doubt that Laura Roslin wouldn't hesitate to play any advantage handed to her in keeping one step ahead of him, but that wasn’t what was happening here. 

She was being honest, reaching out, trying to make a connection.

He could meet her halfway.

“It never really goes away, does it,” he said at long last. He wondered briefly who she had lost, but decided not to pry. If he knew anything about life, it was how deeply personal and private the loss of a loved one could be. If she wanted to volunteer the information, she would. He had no right to ask.

She smiled wanly, shaking her head.

“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed, the pitch of her voice a touch higher than usual. “But you learn to live with it,” she added softly, looking down at her glass of water.

 Bill took the opportunity to look at her for a moment in silence, contemplating the schoolteacher, the president, and the woman he saw before him. Their lives had been unexpectedly intertwined for a while now. He had learned to read her, or so he thought, but how much did he truly know about her? The president, perhaps, he could claim to know, and he’d had a taste of the schoolteacher on their very first meeting, but the woman behind the titles? Bill took a sip of his drink. Th at woman he didn’t know at all.

“How long ago was it?” he ventured to ask at last.

She looked up from her glass, looking at Bill quizzically. He could tell she had been miles away.

“Your loss,” he prompted.

“Oh,” she mouthed. A mixture of emotions seemed to flicker across her features before the politician finally won. She smiled a cool smile that didn’t encourage further prodding. “Years ago now,” she replied a little tersely. “It was before I got into politics,” she added more softly.

Bill nodded. It was something he could understand – the difficulty of opening up. He could not judge her for it.

“Two years ago for me,” he replied, knowing he owed her that much at least. “Still feels like yesterday,” he added, more to himself than the woman seated before him.

She didn’t reply but when Bill could summon the will to look at her again, he thought he could see compassion in her green eyes.

Not pity, which he loathed, but compassion.

“Do you want to…” she hesitated, nose wrinkling apologetically for the abruptness of her question, “…talk about him? Your son, I mean.”

Did he? He never had, not really, not with anyone for whom he didn’t have to be strong. Carolanne, Lee, Kara – for various reasons, he had to keep his emotions in check with all of them. Saul would listen, probably, but it would be awkward. That just wasn’t their relationship.

But this woman…maybe someday…

"No,” he said now, because it wasn’t someday yet. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled briefly, sadly, and then, as if a curtain had descended, the moment was over. “If there's nothing else, Commander, as you said, it’s been a long day, and I should be getting back to my ship.”

“There's nothing else, Madam President.” He rose to his feet and watched as she carefully set her glass of water on the coffee table, then stood herself, straightening her jacket with a discrete tug.

She nodded once, almost as if to herself, and then turned, taking a step towards the hatch, then another and another. After her third step she paused momentarily, her arms moving forward to cross in front of her. He waited expectantly, but she didn’t turn around. After a moment she resumed her walk across the room and left through the hatch without turning back.

When she was gone, he returned to the couch, sat down and closed his eyes.

***

_"I t never really goes away,” Bill sighs, echoing Laura’s words from that day._

_He thinks he can almost hear her hum of agreement in the gust of warm wind that picks up soon after, caressing his face. He smiles at the memory._

_It is one of the good days._

_“I thought you were going to tell me off for risking the fleet,” he says out loud. “I would have deserved it, but you know me.” He pauses – for effect, to wait for an imaginary response, or maybe just to take a breath – he’s not really sure. Then he exhales and closes his eyes, breathing in the sweet air around him._

_They’re all with him, he knows – one way or another. If not in person, then at least in his heart. Zak, Kara…Laura…even Lee, though Bill knows he is not gone in the same way the others are._

_It's Laura, however, who keeps him company when the days grow long and the nights, somehow, even longer._

_"I never was good at letting go", he finishes at last._

_He has no intention of letting go of Laura, either._


	4. Chapter 4

_There should be no pain after death, that's what they all say, but sometimes her heart, or what used to be her heart, aches for him when she watches him toil away all alone, working on the cabin she never got to build._

_She wishes she could tell him to rest when she sees the toll the hard work is taking on him, but she knows he can neither see her nor hear her. Sometimes, when the wind is right, and the lake bathes in the soft hues of twilight, she almost fancies he can feel her presence, but the illusion shatters every time his eyes travel right through her, unseeing._

_Perhaps it should break her, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s part of being dead – everything, including feelings, becoming more abstract, the sharpness of pain and joy fading away - but she likes to think it’s more to do with the knowledge that this is Bill. Her Bill, who doesn’t believe in things he cannot see. Her Bill, who is so beautifully, stubbornly human that he is blind to everything he cannot physically touch._

_How could she ever have believed him to be anything else?_

***

“Negative,” Dr. Baltar announced with a flourish of his hands. “Congratulations, Commander. You are not a Cylon.”

“I know,” Adama replied dryly. “Satisfied?” he asked, turning to Laura.

“Yes, Commander, thank you for humouring me,” she said, not about to admit that the Leoben Cylon had gotten to her. Let the Commander think it was entirely her idea to have him tested first. After all, he was the logical first subject, that awful Ellen woman aside. 

She flashed him a quick, diplomatic smile and turned to leave the room. She had just enough time to get back to Colonial One before her next appointment.

“I assume you’re up next, Madam President?” 

She came to a stop just before the hatchway. Surely he was kidding. There were tests far more urgent that hers: the pilots, for example, or people with access to weaponry.

But when she met William Adama’s eye she found him to be deadly serious. “Humour me, Madam President.

She stared at him for a moment longer, then walked over to Dr. Baltar and extended her arm. “Take what you need, Doctor,” she said, her eyes on Adama the entire time.

“Oh. Ah, certainly. Madam President, yes of course.” He fumbled around for a moment with needle, syringe and tourniquet, finally drawing up a vial of her blood to test.

“Well Commander, I guess I’ll see you back here in eleven hours.”

***

_A soft hum escapes her as she remembers fondly the stern expression on Bill's face. He had barely mustered a curt nod at her departure then._

_The wind picks up and she watches the same man in the present moment pause in his tracks. A surge of hope blows through her as it does every time he seems to pause in the middle of something. Has he finally heard her?_

_No, she concedes. The plank of wood is simply heavy on his shoulder. He adjusts his position and carries on._

_If she had been a Cylon, she could reach out her hand now to touch him, wearing a new, untarnished body._

_She almost regrets it, but she does not. In some ways, it would break him even more than it did to bury her._

***

It was an awkward silence that hung in the air inside the Commander’s quarters after their second visit to Baltar's lab, eleven hours later.

Not for the first the time, Laura found herself wishing there was something stronger than water available to drown out all the words that weren’t being said. She could almost feel his quiet resentment emanating from the other end of the couch.

Their mutual understanding had been a fledgling one at best, but the last twenty-four hours seemed to have unraveled even what little progress they had made up until now, and brought them back to where they had started. What was worse, she knew that this time the fault had largely been hers.

Largely, but certainly not entirely.

Even taking Leoben out of the equation, had she not been right to question the Commander? Of every single person left alive, Adama was the one who could cause the greatest amount of damage as a Cylon. Her own power, though considerable as constituted under the Articles of Colonization, was nothing without the support of the Military. She could no more kill a person than she could sprout wings and fly. If the Commander could not see that...

Laura cleared her throat. The silence had gone on long enough.

“So,” she said, forcing a smile on her face before taking a sip of her water. “Turns out neither of us is a Cylon.” 

He looked over at her, face stony, then set his glass of water down on the table and stood up. Without a word to her, he walked from the sofa to his desk, taking a seat behind it and pulling open a drawer. After a moment of rummaging he pulled out a file folder and returned to the couch, dropping the file folder on the table in front of her as he passed by.

“What is this?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“ _That_ is how you should have known I wasn’t a Cylon,” he said. He picked up his water again and took a long swallow.

She flipped open the file and glanced through the pages contained within. “This is your service record,” she said, confused. “I’ve seen all this already.”

“You’ve seen it. Have you ever asked me about it?”

She hadn’t, of course. She had discussed Adama, his record, his history with Billy, with Lee, and even to some extent, with Saul Tigh, but never with the man himself. Perhaps that had been a miscalculation on her part.

On the other hand, what did his service record really tell her? She knew now that he was not a Cylon, but would discussing Adama's service record with him have changed anything before receiving the test results? She was no expert, but it was her understanding that enemy agents deep in a cover mission could commit terrible acts even against their own if it meant keeping their cover.

Laura shook her head, chastising herself for the thought. What was she thinking? A nagging sense of remorse told her she was still feeding the seed of doubt the Leoben Cylon had planted in her mind. She was still trying to justify her own paranoia - trying to tell herself her fears had been well founded even though they had been based on the lies of a manipulative machine, and had been proven wrong.

The Commander had saved all of their lives numerous times over. He deserved better from her.

Another voice inside her chimed in, reminding her she alse deserved better from _him_.

Taking in a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, she held his gaze for a moment, appraising the man she saw before her. His jaw was clenched, his form rigid, and the look in his blue eyes not exactly hostile, but certainly challenging, almost spoiling for a fight - waiting for her to say the wrong thing.

This was a man full of emotion, determined not to show it while all but daring her to ask, and Laura knew she had no choice but to do just that: ask what she perhaps should have asked him before.

She turned the service record over in her hands and then looked at the man still staring at her. She tilted her head, attempted a smile that vanished almost before it could manifest on her face, and then settled on just clearing her throat before voicing the question: “Would you like to tell me about it now?”

Something about her prompting appeared to rub him the wrong way, but then most things about her seemed to have that effect on him. He straightened in his seat, and when he spoke, his voice was taut with restrained anger. “I’ve been in the Colonial Fleet for over forty years, Madam President. The better part of my life has been spent trying to protect the citizens of the Colonies from those who would do them harm, often to the detriment of my family. My son will happily confirm that fact. And you thought I might be one of those machines? Do you really not see how insulting that is?” 

“ _Insulting_ , Commander?” Her voice climbed several octaves in the space of those few syllables. “I apologize if I have _insulted_ you, but I have the lives of fifty thousand people, the _last_ fifty thousand people in all of the universe, in my hands. I cannot, will not, compromise what is best of them to protect your or anyone else’s precious feelings!”

Somehow, without realizing it, she had stood and walked to the other end of the couch, and was now looming over the Commander, finger jabbing the air in front of his face. She stopped, stared at him for a moment, then lowered her finger. “I will not apologize for that, Commander.”

Adama stared at her, lips pressed tightly together, and so she stared back. She may have stated her case perhaps a bit more strongly than necessary, but she had a frakking point, and she wanted him to acknowledge it. It wasn’t too much to ask.

Eyes narrowing, her hands found resting spots on her hips.

Finally he looked away, his lips quirking upwards as he reached again for his water glass. Was…was he laughing at her?

“Madam President, _I_ will apologize,” he said after he swallowed the last of his drink. “It’s been a long few days.”

Laura looked at him in silence for a moment, waiting until she was sure he had nothing else to say.

Perhaps she had pushed him too far. It had been a long couple of days, and the appearance of Ellen Tigh, she suspected, had not made life easier for anyone on Galactica. Having seen the Colonel and his wife the night before, she could even hazard a guess that the Commander had probably covered his XO’s shift that same night. It was no wonder he was on edge.

If she didn’t change tactics, or simply walk out, they would only end up goading each other into something she had no energy for right now.

Without saying a word, Laura let her hands fall from her hips and she returned quietly to her end of the couch, sinking back down on the leather cushions. The movement sent an unexpected jolt of pain to her already throbbing breast, unnecessarily reminding her why she, too, had had more than a few long days lately.

In fact, if they were to start comparing personal grievances, Laura was fairly certain she would come out the winner. She smiled wryly at the thought.

“What’s so amusing?” the Commander’s rough voice broke the silence. Perhaps he had seen the brief grimace she hadn’t been entirely able to hide, because suddenly the hard edge seemed to have disappeared from his gaze.

Or perhaps they both were simply too tired to continue the match.

“Can I suggest we agree to a stipulation?” Laura said after a moment, ignoring his question as rhetorical.

“Are we in court?” he asked, but if his words were suspicious, his tone was resigned.

“After a fashion. I suspect we’re both still on trial with one another. Maybe just a little? Hmm?”

He harrumphed, but amusement played about the corners of his eyes. “Fair enough. What’s your stipulation?”

“I think, Commander, that it would save us both a great deal of time and energy, if we could simply presume that the other always has the best interests of the fleet in mind, and that even when we disagree on what those interests call for, none of this is ever personal. I mean honestly, wouldn’t anything that helps us avoid conversations like this one be a good thing in the long run?”

He emitted a short bark of laughter, head bobbing up and down. “So say we all,” he said, with some degree of enthusiasm. Standing, he offered his hand, the gesture reminiscent of another day, one that was chronologically not so far past, but already felt like aeons ago in experience.

She rose and accepted his hand, this time feeling that she at least had a basic understanding of the man at the other end of the arm. While they would no doubt disagree again, hopefully they would be able to keep today in mind and work through their differences without it affecting the unity of the fleet.

***

_Their naiveté in those early days would almost be amusing if it wasn’t so damned sad. Their agreement that day had lasted only as long as it took for their individual ideals to send them, once again, barrelling down different paths. It seemed to be their fate to spin off in opposite directions, only to come crashing back together._

_Before, again, always. Together._

_And they will be together again some day. How she knows this she can’t explain, but know it she does._

_Until then she’ll wait, and watch, and every caress of the wind through his hair will be a promise from her._


	5. Chapter 5

_Bill misses many things about his old life, obvious things like running water and central heating and food he doesn’t have to kill himself. Treasured things like his family and friends. Like his brave and beautiful Laura. But what surprises him are the non-essentials he misses. He would have thought he’d have become used to having little in the way of creature comforts, firstly from the relative austerity of military life, and then later when most of the finer things in life had ceased to exist at all. He supposes that, as in everything, one adapts and becomes used to what one has, no matter how much or how little that may be._

_He misses his books, though he still has a few carefully chosen volumes, the ones that remind him most of her. Dark Day, Blood Runs at Midnight. Searider Falcon, though by now he has long since read the ending. He misses the burn of liquor at the back of his throat, especially when the memories of everything else he’s lost won’t let him sleep._

_Perhaps most surprising is how much he misses music. He’d never been a particularly musical man. He didn’t play an instrument, had never sung more than the occasional lullaby, back when his boys were infants. Of course he had songs he liked, that reminded him of certain key moments in his life, but never one he would call a favourite._

_He’s been thinking a lot about music lately, trying to recall melodies and harmonies and cadence, anything to replace the droning of his own internal monologue. Today it’s jazz, all strings and rhythm and brass and the memory of circling the dance floor, his arms around a beautiful redhead, a brief moment in time when he remembered what it felt like to live._

***

He wasn’t sure why he had asked her in the first place. It certainly hadn’t been his plan when he had joined the party, or even when, a moment later, he had joined her at her lonely table to exchange a few perfunctory words about politics.

Perhaps it was the unexpected common ground they had found over the past few days – the shared sense of a bullet having been dodged with the election of Gaius Baltar over Tom Zarek.

Bill could not pretend he understood her choice of vice president, but he had to admit she had shown herself more capable than he had previously given her credit for, in playing the game of power. Whatever Dr. Baltar’s shortcomings were, and Bill could think of many right off the top of his head, he would still have to be considered the lesser of two evils. And Laura Roslin had had the wits to see that he could actually win the popular vote.

Yes, there were moments Bill had to admire her political skills even despite himself, but it was hardly a reason to bring the president of the Twelve Colonies out for a spin on the dancefloor. It had been a spur of the moment decision, but as he took in a deep breath, smelling the faint remnants of her perfume as his hand slid across her back to find a better position, he couldn’t say he regretted it.

He didn’t regret it later either, when they left the dance floor to the young people and he escorted her back to her little table surrounded by security guards.

“Won’t you sit down?” she asked. “Have a drink with another old warhorse?” As if to punctuate her questions, she picked up her glass and swallowed the last of its contents.

He laughed, acknowledging the absurdity of applying that word to her without refuting her attempt at camaraderie. “I can do that,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her. 

“And perhaps, we can even put aside our war stories for one evening, Commander, and just enjoy the company?” 

Involuntarily, his eyebrows raised. It had been a long time since someone had flirted with him, so long that he couldn’t swear he wasn’t imagining it now. But he was intrigued enough to play along long enough to find out.

“In that case, Madam President, call me Bill,” he said.

“Hello Bill. I’m Laura.” She extended a hand in greeting, as if they were newly introduced. And perhaps, he thought, Bill and Laura just were. He reached out and shook her hand. Her skin was soft, cool to the touch, and he had to fight off the impulse to hold it long enough to warm it.

The waiter approached and they each ordered a drink. He noted with mild interest that what he had taken for water with a twist of lime was actually something a fair bit stronger. The thought of spending time with this woman, her tongue loosened by liquor, was more captivating than it probably should be.

As if reading his mind, her lips quirked into a smile and she tilted her head slightly, a teasing twinkle in her eye adding something to her expression that Bill had not seen before. He decided it suited her.

“I should be careful, I know,” she admitted a little guiltily, twirling her straw in the empty glass the waiter had left behind. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper drink, let alone two."

Bill nodded his head in silent acknowledgement and smiled back, not quite sure how to respond. There was something unequivocally charming about Laura Roslin when she let her guard down, or rather, Bill figured, turned her charm on. Whether it was intentional or part of her natural appeal, he would not hazard to guess, but if they had met under different circumstances…Bill cut the thought short, not allowing himself to finish it.

“That makes two of us, then,” he finally spoke, suddenly eager to fill the silence that left too much room for dangerous ideas that could lead nowhere. He was saved, a moment later, by the return of the waiter who arrived with the drinks they had ordered.

Bill watched as Laura’s hand traveled from the empty glass to the full one, bringing with it the old straw that was likely one of the last few in existence. A subtle reminder of how everything about this night was little more than an illusion.

Right now they were Laura and Bill, but by the next morning they would be President Roslin and Commander Adama again - and that was if they were lucky enough not to be interrupted by another crisis sooner.

As his eyes darted from the drinks back to Laura, he found her looking at him with a curious expression.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked down, smiling at the table, wondering what she would say if he told her the real direction his thought had been travelling. Would she take it in the spirit she, herself, had proposed? As just a comment from a man to a woman in a social setting, a man who didn't have the fate of all humanity in his hands, a woman who didn't have the weight of several worlds on her slim shoulders? Maybe. Or maybe any expression of interest, no matter how abstract or wistful, would threaten the still fragile working relationship they have worked so hard to build.

“No, nothing,” he said, taking the coward’s way out. “Just, as you said, enjoying the company.”

Was it his imagination, or did she look disappointed in his non-answer?

“I see,” she said, picking up her drink and taking a sip from her straw.

He shouldn’t be looking at the pink of her lips against the blue straw, shouldn’t be looking the condensation dripping down the side of her drink and over her fingers. Most definitely he shouldn’t be thinking about peeling her fingers away from the glass and licking the moisture from them one by one.

He blinked and looked away, picking up his own glass and taking a long swallow. When he looked back, she was watching him, humor lighting her eyes, as if she knew exactly how uncomfortable he had just become and why.

“Bill, would you like to get out of here?” she asked suddenly, wrinking her nose and inclining her head towards her security guards.

It was a terrible idea. Considering the direction his thoughts had just taken, Bill knew the only sensible thing would have been to say no. Stay in the safety of the crowd and let her leave if she wanted to.

Instead of politely declining, however, he soon heard himself readily agreeing to her suggestion. Only a moment later he was on his feet, offering her his arm for support.

"Thank you," she murmured, accepting his chivalrous gesture as she stood up from her stool, swaying just a little towards him before regaining her balance. They both grabbed their half-finished drinks to go. 

"Where to?" Bill asked, raising his voice a little to carry over the noise as he led their way through a throng of dancers, none of whom seemed to particularly care that the President and the Commander were passing through. Somewhere behind them, Bill was vaguely aware that Laura's security guards still followed them, but they seemed to be lagging behind as if by some common agreement. He was glad of it because wherever this evening was heading, he was sure he would prefer to see it through without an audience.

“The park deck should have evening lighting by now,” he heard Laura’s voice closer to his ear than he had anticipated. Her body had just bumped against his in the crowd and she was using the momentary proximity to speak without having to shout. “It’ll probably be quieter there too,” she added.

Bill had to agree she had a point. Besides, he rarely had reason to visit Cloud 9, and even when he did, it was usually on duty. That meant he hadn’t yet had an opportunity to enjoy the closest thing they had to a park. He suspected it might be the same for Laura, and perhaps that was all there was to it. Perhaps all she wanted was a quiet moment to reminisce what life had once been like. If he did feel a twinge of disappointed somewhere in the pits of his stomach at the possibility, he prefered not to acknowelge it.

“Wait here, please gentlemen,” Laura instructed her guards when they arrived on the park deck. “I’ll be perfectly safe with the Commander.”

Given path on which his thoughts had been travelling, Bill had to wonder about that. Then again, he reconsidered when the President turned a sly smile in his direction, perhaps it was his safety that was in question. He took another swallow of his drink and followed.

Passing through the sliding door of the entrance, Bill found himself in what did in fact appear be a large park. So realistic was it upon first glance, that it was almost disorienting. They had emerged onto a discreetly lit path made from brick red paving stones and lined with low concrete walls enclosing gardens of flowers, trees and other greenery. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the burbling water of a fountain.

Above his head, the dome was set to simulate a generic night sky, dotted with constellations borrowed from each of the twelve planets of the Colonies. Beside him, Laura sighed happily, head tilted skyward. “It’s so beautiful,” she said.

_Not as beautiful as you_ , he thought, but did not say. “It is,” he agreed instead, extending his elbow once again for her to take.

She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow before taking another sip of her almost empty glass. Together, they started down the path in the direction of the sound of the fountain.  
“My gods, there’s even a breeze,” Laura said, her fingers lightly squeezing his arm as they walked. She paused briefly, arm stretching, then bringing him to a halt as well. “Is that honeysuckle I smell?”

Bill inhaled deeply through his nose, then laughed. “I don’t smell anything, but don’t go by me. My nose went AWOL after a couple of decades of breathing in Viper fuel fumes.”

Laura smiled. “Well, with no one to contradict me, I’m going to believe it’s honeysuckle.”

Bill let out a slight chuckle before taking a sip of his own drink.

“You miss it?” he asked after a short pause. “Your life before the attacks?”

It was a stupid question, and he realized it almost immediately after the words had left his mouth. Of course she missed it. Everyone in the fleet did. Everyone who had previously had a life outside of the fleet.

Bill watched her mouth quirk into something that could almost have been a smile if it did not also look like a grimace, and he cursed himself even more for the inane question.

“Hmm,” she hummed noncommittally after a beat, taking another sip of her drink.

“I suppose that goes without saying,” Bill supplied the answer for her, hoping to move the conversation quickly back to something more pleasant. The last thing he wanted was for his thoughtless question to bring her back memories that could only be painful.

Instead of looking particularly pained, however, Laura paused and turned to look at him, tilting her head slightly.

“You don’t miss it?” she asked in a voice that barely sounded like a question. Bill thought he noticed a slight shiver run through her as she spoke, as if the breeze had suddenly made her feel cold.

“My life has been on Galactica for a long time,” he replied, placing a hand lightly on the small of Laura’s back and leading her to a bench nearby in case she was tired. “It has been a while since I had a place to call home on Caprica.”

He acknowledged Laura’s silently mouthed “thank you” as they both sat down, and then added: “I did have an apartment, but it wasn’t a home.”

Perhaps it would eventually have become one, had he been able to retire as intended.

“It was in the west end, down by the river,” he told her. “I wasn’t really looking forward to retirement, but I think eventually I would have grown to like that neighbourhood. There was a bookstore just down the street, across from a park. Looked like a good way to spend an afternoon.”

Laura smiled. “It sounds nice. I was fond of browsing through bookstores myself.”

“That right?” he asked gruffly, lost improbabilities flowing through his mind like sand through his fingers: arriving at the bookstore door a fraction of second before her and holding it open as she entered; their fingers grazing when they reached for the same book at the same time; standing behind her in line for the register and lending her a cubit when she found herself short.

“You think you would ever have looked at a washed up Viper jock like me?” he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop them. 

Her eyes widened, but not, he thought, because she was surprised by the implication. She was only surprised he’d voiced it. “No,” she admitted softly, after a moment. “Probably not.”

He snorted, then shrugged resignedly, looking away. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, after all, a woman like her. And what did it matter now anyway?

“But,” she continued. “That would have been my loss.” 

Bill nodded his head in acknowledgement, wondering if she meant what she said or if this was the politician trying to sugarcoat the rejection. He hoped it was the former, because for him this night had not been about politics, and he was fairly certain it hadn’t been for Laura either. Something between them had clicked in a way it hadn’t before, and for the first time in a long time – longer than they had been on the run, if he was being truly honest with himself – he had felt a spark of something he had barely expected to ever feel again.

Whether it was wise to nurture such thoughts at all was a different matter, but it wasn't something he was willing to chastise himself for yet. There’d be time enough for that in the upcoming days when he and the president would certainly be locking horns again over something they couldn’t agree on.

Tonight, they were still just Bill and Laura, gazing at the make-believe stars in a make-believe park, enjoying a stolen moment that might never repeat itself again. A moment he sensed might already be coming to an end.

He downed the rest of the drink and glanced at Laura who had wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if trying to remain warm. In response to his querying eyes, she smiled almost apologetically.

“I’m afraid I may have to return to my quarters for the night,” she sighed with undisguised regret. It wasn’t an invitation to join her, but something in her tone made Bill wonder if perhaps under different circumstances it might have been.

He nodded his head and helped her to her feet, dismayed at how cold her hands suddenly seemed to be.

“There’ll be other nights,” he offered hopefully as they began walking slowly towards the park exit.

“Hmm,” she hummed, casting her eyes around the park one more time. “Yes…” she then said with a hint of regret still lingering in her voice. “There will be other nights.”

***

_Bill sighs, splashing his face with cool water as he kneels down by the lake. With an absent mind, he watches the ripples settle down and then turns away before he can see his reflection form again on the surface._

_It always comes back around to her. Of everything he misses, there’s nothing he misses more than her. He misses the cadence of her soothing voice. He misses the light press of her hand over his arm as they would walk together along the corridors of Galactica, like they had walked that night in the park. He misses the sound of her heels clicking against the cold stones of that starlit path almost as much he misses the soft padding of her bare feet in the privacy of his quarters later on when they had reached that level of intimacy._

_There had never been anything non-essential about any aspect of her, but still sometimes it's the little things, the seemingly most insignificant ones about her that suddenly fill his heart with the greatest longing, and the greatest fear that he might one by one start forgetting those small details that are all part of the full entity of Laura._

_He wants her whole. Needs her whole. Now and always, even if it’s only in his memory, because strangely, it’s the memory of her that gives him the strength to keep going on those days he misses her the most._


	6. Chapter 6

_Days morph into weeks as Bill works on the cabin; his hours spent on cutting and transporting wood, laying the foundations, and trying to plan a structure that can actually support itself – all of them tasks that a commander of a battlestar or an admiral of the fleet would never have to trouble himself with._

_If he forgets to rest, his aching limbs remind him of it, but he barely heeds the warnings sent out by his ailing body. It is only the arrival or rain – a hard and unrelenting downpour of it – that finally forces him to abandon his task for a time and seek shelter inside the tent he has erected as his temporary home._

_There, listening to the sound of raindrops pattering for hours against the old canvas, it’s almost impossible not to think of another time, another place, and another canvas that once sheltered him and Laura from similar weather._

_Kobol. The memory of it is still both bitter and sweet: the beginning of an understanding between them marred by the knowledge that her cancer would make their budding friendship nothing more than a brief alliance. Or so he had thought._

***

Bill still wasn't quite sure how he came to be sharing a tent with the President, but space was limited and as inappropriate as this arrangement was, every other combination seemed worse. They would make do.

Laura had been lost somewhere inside herself since their return from the tomb. She sat cross-legged and hunched over, eyes moving rapidly from side to side as she read and reread the Sacred Scrolls, the same passages, over and over again, her lips moving silently as she went.

He was left feeling awkwardly uncomfortable by this display of faith, and so he remained silent, sticking to his own more mundane reading material.

Or, at least, he tried to. The ground was hard against his old bones and his surgical scar pulsed and burned with his every movement. He struggled to find a comfortable position, going from seated to reclining to lying flat; moving from one side to the other; adjusting and readjusting his pack behind his head.

“Here.”

He looked up to find Laura holding out her jacket. He looked back at her in confusion.

“Bunch it up under the small of your back,” she suggested. “It will give you a bit more support.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He accepted the jacket and did as she suggested, then leaned back against the log again, discovering this new arrangement was at least marginally more comfortable.

“Better?” she asked.

He grunted in the affirmative and she went back to her scrolls. He picked up his own book again, but he didn’t begin to read; instead he surreptitiously watched the President, his head down, but his eyes up.

Her cancer could well be a third being in the tent with them, so present was it in his thoughts, but as long as Laura continued to ignore it, Bill would as well. That fact did not stop him from quietly observing her. He could tell that she was tired, for sure, but the same thing could easily be said about anyone who had taken part in her expedition. In fact, it could be said about everyone who was now part of their little group, including himself, and not just because he had recently taken bullets to his chest. The hike had been long and the weather unforgiving. Even the young ones had looked like they wanted nothing more than to return to the relative comforts of the austere old Battlestar they called home.

Abandoning the study of her face, Bill’s eyes drifted to the area of Laura’s chest, all shapes hidden from view by a loose shirt and a rough blanket he himself had placed on her shoulders to keep her warm. 

Should he have been able to tell? Apart from the purely hypothetical option of their relationship having taken a very physical turn early on, allowing him unrestricted access to certain parts of her body – Bill closed his eyes briefly, resolutely pushing the thought aside – could he have detected her illness in any other way? Had he been too busy thinking of her as simply someone he was forced to deal with to pay attention to anything beyond the surface?

Looking back now, he could think of several looks and throwaway lines that he had chalked up as meaningless at the time, but which now, with the benefit of hindsight, seemed like something he could have picked up on had he been less dense. Bill had always thought of himself as observant, but with Laura Roslin it seemed he had dropped the ball completely.

As if on cue, her voice broke through his concentration just then. “You won’t see it by burning a hole in the fabric of my shirt, you know,” she pointed out dryly without looking up from her scriptures. “It’s all very…cellular.”

Bill blinked. He had not noticed when she had stopped reading. Mentally, he rolled the dice and went for the hard six. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Because it was none of his frakking business would be the obvious and completely correct answer, but he knew there had to be more to it than that. He was interested to see if she would cop to it, or freeze him out.

Her eyes narrowed and locked on to his in the growing twilight, and he didn’t look away as he waited for her to decide how to proceed. It felt to him like a momentous occasion, a turning point in their relationship. This, more than any moment that had come before, seemed like the one that would define the rest of their days as joint leaders of the fleet, for however long or short those days may be. Would she trust him enough now to acknowledge her weakness, or would they continue on as before, sometimes aligning, but never truly merging?

After what seemed like an eternity, she released a breath of air and closed her book, setting it on the ground beside her. Then she drew her knees up to her chest and clasped her arms around them, hiding from view what he already couldn’t see.

“I was always cognizant of the fact that I served at the pleasure of the military, Commander,” she explained. “I didn’t think it wise to…displease…you unnecessarily. And I believe recent events have proven my caution justified.”

Her words were like a slap to his face. “You really thought I would use your illness against you? Is that what you think of me?” He struggled until he was sitting up straight, teeth gritted against the pain in his chest.

“I think it would have been one more factor for you to put in the negative column when you were deciding how much rope to give the little schoolteacher with which to hang herself.” 

“That’s not fair, Laura.” He hadn’t thought of her as a schoolteacher since the Olympic Carrier. She had earned her title that day, and then some.

She was silent for several long minutes, looking off somewhere off to the side. “No," she said eventually. "You’re right. It isn’t fair. Nothing in the universe is fair anymore. Maybe it never was. But there were times I wanted to tell you, Bill. I thought about it more than once.

Bill thought back on various quiet moments the two of them had spent together since the attacks –impromptu chats in the wardroom after everyone else had cleared out; private, top-level meetings in his quarters, one all-too-brief walk in the park. After everything that had happened leading up to the coup, he had wanted to resent her for those few stolen moments of camaraderie, for making him think he could actually like her, even let his guard down around her, when he should have been doing the opposite. Now though, he had to wonder – what had she really been thinking during those times?

“Why didn’t you?” he asked after a moment of reflection.

“I suppose…” she began and then paused, searching for the right words. “I suppose at first there just wasn’t time. It wasn’t, couldn’t be, a priority. Not for me, and certainly not for you. And then later I…” She paused, looked briefly to the Sacred Scrolls at her feet before continuing. “I wasn’t ready to trust you to not get in my way. The scriptures talk about a dying leader bringing the people to Earth. _Bill_ , you have to understand; I couldn’t take the chance that you would make it harder for me to do that. I needed you to see me as whole. Strong. So I could do what needed to be done without interference.”

Bill opened his mouth to speak, still hurt that she seemed to think he would have been so uncaring as to use her illness against her, but Laura held her hand up, shaking her head.

“No, don’t bother to deny it. We both know how you feel about the Scriptures, even now. You’re willing to give me some leeway, yes, in order to put the fleet back together, and I trust you to keep your word, but we both know what it took to bring you to this point. This would have been a very different conversation had we had it before everything else happened.”

That was true as far as it went, Bill knew, and she was right that even now he didn’t really believe she was the dying leader foretold by Pythia. But he had seen enough tangible proof now to make him believe the old book had some measure of truth to it, and he was willing to see where it led them. But that didn’t really answer his question.

“That explains why you didn’t tell me about the prophesy,” he said. “You could still have told me about your cancer, as a friend.”

For a moment she seemed puzzled by his choice in word, but then her expression softened perceptibly. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I could have, maybe even should have, but I hope in the end you can understand why I didn’t.”

Bill was not sure that he could understand, but he was willing to accept there were aspects of this woman he didn’t, and might never have time to, fully understand, given the limited time they had left. He did, however, believe her to be sincere.

“What’s done is done,” he conceded with a sigh, shifting a little to try to find a more comfortable position. “I meant what I said earlier today about not being here to navel gaze or assign blame, but I am sorry if putting you in the brig caused you any additional discomfort. If I had known…”

“You would still have put me in the brig,” Laura finished for him, but her tone was not accusatory and her words were accompanied by a slight smile.

She was probably right and, rather than arguing against her assessment, Bill found himself returning her smile. He could have pointed out that, had he known, he could at least have made the brig more comfortable for her and made sure that she had everything she needed, but he knew he would only have been appeasing himself with his assurances.

“Is there anything I can do now?” he asked instead after a short silence. “Is there no treatment that could be attempted?”

Bill watched as the remnants of her smile left Laura’s face and she looked down at the Scriptures again.

When she looked up after a moment, she opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, blinking a few times until her face looked neutral again.

“It’s too far advanced...” she finally said with only a slight tremor in her voice. She paused for a beat and by the time she continued, even that tremor was gone. “I _am_ going to die, Bill, but after I’m gone, I need you to take our people to Earth,” she said steadily. “I know you don’t believe in what these Scriptures say, but you were there at the tomb. You saw the stars. Earth is out there and we must find it.”

He nodded soberly. "You have my word. I will lead our people to Earth alone if I have to, but that doesn’t mean I'm ready to give up on you yet, Madam President. If our experience here on this planet has taught me anything, it's that there are things in this universe that remain beyond human understanding. And after all," he added with a grim smile, purposely choosing words he used with her once before, under more pleasant circumstances, "you're still standing."

She laughed, an almost startling sound in the quiet of the surrounding night. "Well at the moment I'm not, and I think I'll leave the standing until tomorrow, if it's all the same to you." With one last quick flash of smile, she laid back on her narrow, improvised bed, pulling the blanket to cover her.

Taking the hint, he reached over and turned off the small lantern providing the only remaining light in their tent, and attempted to settle himself back into whatever was going to pass for a comfortable sleeping position.

He had just closed his eyes when she spoke, the word coming from somewhere in the darkness behind him. "Commander?”

"Mm?"

"I won't promise that I'll never keep anything from you again."

That was only as he expected, but somehow, the admission itself felt like progress. "Noted. Good night, Madam President."

”Good night, Commander,” she murmured. “Sleep well.”

***

_Bill takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly, her words echoing in his ears, mingling with the steady pouring of the rain that is gently lulling him towards much needed sleep. As he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine her curled up behind him like she had that night, the heat of her body radiating against him inside the cramped tent despite the polite distance they had maintained._

_“Good night, Madam President,” he whispers into the emptiness, his heart sinking a little at the knowledge that she will never again respond._

_He had meant what he had promised her that night. He would have pursued Earth alone if he had to, but the mere thought of it now seems somehow absurd, in retrospect. As if he ever could have succeeded without her._

_After all, it had always been between the two of them – always stronger together than apart – and he has never been more painfully aware of that truth._

_“Good night, Laura,” he sighs softly before sleep finally overtakes him._


	7. Chapter 7

_“Good night, Laura.”_

_She perceives language more as ideas now, impressions of words stretching out to her from the other side of a sheer, but impenetrable, curtain. They are assimilated more than they are heard, becoming a part of whatever she is now._

_Bill’s words bring with them a sense of déjà vu, scattered fragments of memories from a life that seems so far distant to her now. A tent much like this one, a journey of reconciliation, a new beginning, not for herself, but for her people._

_Good night Bill. She responds in a way that is not truly speech and that, of course, he does not hear, but she hopes somehow becomes part of him too. Tomorrow will be a better day, now as it was then._

***

Laura could feel the eyes of the deck crew on her and could hear their hushed whispers behind her back as she wordlessly made her way through the hangar bay. The fact that she was walking by the Commander’s side rather than being escorted behind him in handcuffs seemed to be a matter of some surprise to the majority of the onlookers and Laura found herself fighting back a smirk as she imagined how the press would react once the news of their apparent reconciliation began to spread.

The Commander’s face remained a stoic mask as they passed through the open area of the hangar deck, but as soon as they reached the confines of a more secluded corridor, Laura could feel his hand grazing the small of her back, subtly claming her attention.

“Should I take you to the Life Station?” he asked under his breath as if concerned they might not yet be out of hearing range. “I thought we could talk in my quarters but if you need to see Dr. Cottle first...”

Laura shook her head. What she needed was a hot shower and then a comfortable bed, but even more urgently she needed to know where they now stood politically. As if by some mutual agreement, they had not broached the subject on Kobol but now that they were back on Galactica and it was only a matter of hours before the whole fleet would know of their return, that talk could no longer be avoided.

She needed to know whether they still had a functioning civilian government, and whether she still had a job at its helm, or if her title from now on would forever be prefixed by the word "former".

“Let’s talk,” she said simply, then walked past, continuing on down the corridor. 

They didn’t speak again until the hatch to his quarters had clanged closed, leaving the guards on the other side.

“Drink?” he offered, already advancing on the cart.

“Please.” If any circumstances had ever called for a drink, it would seem to be these ones. New beginnings, she supposed, of one sort or another.

She left him to pour, bypassing their usual meeting area and taking a seat on the couch, her back straight and hands folded tightly against her knees.

“Relax, Laura,” he said, coming up behind her then handing her a glass. “I meant what I said down on the planet. I forgive you. The past is just that – the past. It’s behind us. Now is a time for reconciliation and we're going to bring the fleet back together. You and me. Together.”

“For as long as we have left,” she added, a quiet caveat, though she knew he hadn’t forgotten.

His eyes bored into hers for a moment, but he chose not to address her comment. “We’re going to have a general assembly in the hangar bay, now, immediately, and broadcast it to all of the fleet. Let them see and hear that we’re a unit, dedicated to one goal – finding Earth.”

“Do you think it will be that easy, Commander?” she asked, remembering the faces of the crew members they’d passed just moments ago. “That they'll accept me back as their president, after everything, just because you tell them to?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think anything about this is going to be easy, but we have to start somewhere, Laura.”

_Laura_ , she mused as she took a sip of her drink, contemplating his words. Was that how they were going to address each other from now on when there were no other people present, or was he simply going out of his way to make her feel at ease right now? It was a fleeting thought she had no time to dwell on.

She knew he was right about the fleet needing unity. The rift that had begun just between the two of them had ended up nearly tearing the entire fleet apart, one half deciding to follow her while the other had stuck by the Commander. Could the solution, too, be as simple as the one he was now suggesting? A public display of a united front to pull together the two sides that were still at odds.

Laura was not sure, but she knew the Commander was right at least in one respect: they did have to start somewhere and his public endorsement of her in front of his own crew might well be enough to secure her at least the grudging support of the military. It would be a start, and that was what they needed. Then it would be her turn to find a way for the military to earn the trust of the common man again.

“Laura?” the Commander prodded as she was taking her time to formulate her thoughts.

“I think you’re right,” Laura said at last. “The sooner we get started the better, but Commander…” She paused, considered for a moment, and then amended: “Bill…There’s more work to be done than can be achieved by simply publicly broadcasting our common goal. Before we go out there, I need to be sure that there will continue to be a civilian government to answer to the needs of the people.”

“The civilian government has the full support of the military, Madam President. I would not presume to tell you how to go about getting back to the business of governing, however, martial law is over.”

Consciously or not, he had switched back to a more formal manner of address, and with some relief, she followed suit. “Thank you, Commander. I can take it from there.” There is a certain comfort to be found in the ritual of language, and they could both use a little comfort right now.

“Good. Now one last thing you should know about. The press is in a bit of a tizzy over Saul’s actions while I was out of commission. I may need some…public relations assistance of my own.”

She smiled. “You’ll scratch my back if I scratch yours?”

Bill’s mouth twitched as if he were maintaining a straight face only through herculean efforts. “I would…scratch your back…either way Madam President. I was merely suggesting that perhaps it would be better for everyone involved if the press could be brought to heel.”

He’s right of course. ‘To heel’ may be an overly optimistic metaphor, but perhaps if they were tossed a bone of sorts…“I’ll give it some thought, Commander, certainly.”

“Thank you.” Bill drained the last of his drink and heaved himself to his feet, then extended his hand to her. “Are you ready?”

Was she? Only two days ago she had assumed she would never stand before the Colonial military again, unless it was with irons hobbling her limbs and guns pointed at her head. Could they really put things back the way they were before?

She supposed there was only one way to find out. She slung back the remainder of her own drink, and reached out to accept the Commander’s hand. “Yes. I’m ready.”

The Commander cocked his head slightly and then smiled a slow smile that Laura found herself responding to, feeling in that instant a new sense of optimism suddenly flush through her. Whatever the next few months, or however little time she had left, would throw at them, for the first time she truly believed they might be able to meet those challenges together, as two leaders finally united under a common purpose.

For the first time since stepping into the presidency, she felt she had found herself an ally where she had previously seen an adversary.

***  
_  
Ally…friend…partner…lover, she lets the words flow through her consciousness, trying for a moment to assign each of them a time and place within their relationship, and then abandoning the task as futile. Words have too little meaning to her now for any of it to matter or even make sense. There’s just Bill, who is all of those things and more._

_He is her constant._

_It’s a strange thing, she muses as she feels a sense of longing she should no longer feel, to miss someone who isn’t gone, and stranger still to be the one who is gone without truly being so. It has been weeks, maybe even months – time is another concept that means nothing to her now – and still she lingers in this state of not being, torn between two forces that would pull her in different directions._

_Even now, so close to Bill, she can feel the call of the Shore, but other times, when she isn’t here, when she’s not really sure where she is, that call is much harder to resist. There are times she can hear the voices of her sisters and her parents calling out to her, can almost see their faces in the distance, and for those moments the desire to join them becomes almost overwhelming. But then she will hear Bill’s voice again – different from the other voices, coarse and rough, distant and yet so close, speaking to her as if she’d never been gone, and she’s anchored again, not yet ready to go._

_She can’t quite explain it, like she can hardly explain any aspect of her current existence, or lack thereof, but somewhere within the realm of her current consciousness she’s afraid of losing him._

_She’s afraid, rationally or not, that if she drifts too far away now, if she joins her family and floats into the unknown with them, she might never find Bill again, in this life or the next.  
_


	8. Chapter 8

_Earth, such as she’s capable of experiencing it, is beautiful. Sometimes she almost envies Bill for being able to feel the ground under his feet and the sweet wind on his skin that she can now only discern through the movement of the grass and trees as it blows through the landscape, bringing it to life._

_It’s a luxury - one of many - that for most of her life she had never thought she’d miss._

_It’s funny, really, how some things that used to be so important to her have ceased to be so, and things that seemed meaningless once are everything to her now that they’re out of her reach._

_In that sense, Laura muses, perhaps death is not so different from life. Even in life, she knows, things that once seemed important can become meaningless as time passes, and sometimes when you get what you thought you wished for, it turns out it’s not what you wanted at all._

***

She had been happy at first, of course she had been. Why would she be anything but thrilled to learn of more survivors, and of another Battlestar to protect them all? 

It wasn’t until later, in Adama’s quarters when Admiral Cain was relaying the story of her survival, that Laura had first felt the cold tingling up her spine that suggested perhaps this woman was not to be trusted. Even then it hadn’t quite coalesced into concern until a few moments later when the Admiral had issued an order. Commander Adama had replied with a simple, “Yes, sir,” and Laura could do nothing but stare.

“Thank you for finding us,” she had said as she departed, hoping her tone gave nothing away of the facetiousness of the statement.

Of course,  _they_ had never been lost.

Now, a few days into Admiral Cain’s command, Laura sat at her desk looking through the ever-expanding stacks of supply requisitions coming in from the fleet. Hopefully Bill would be able to get some movement on the issue from the elusive Admiral Cain, otherwise she was going to have to find ways around the military. She had hoped those days were over for good.

“Ma’am?” Billy poked his head through the curtain. “Commander Adama is on the line for you.”

Speak of the devil. “Thank you, Billy.” She pulled off her glasses and tossed them to the desk before picking up the comm unit. “Commander, what can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Madam President,” came Adama’s gravelly voice in her ear. “I’ve been to see the Admiral, and she has agreed Galactica can begin transporting supplies to the fleet immediately. I’ve got supply ships being stocked as we speak.”

She smiled. As frustrating as it was to no longer have unfettered access to the head of the military, at least she still had friends in high places.

“Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

“You’re welcome.” Bill said nothing else, but she could still hear his breathing over the open line.

“Was there something else Commander?” She reached across the desk to retrieve her glasses. If supplies were starting to move again, she was going to have to approve the rest of these requisitions and have Billy send them over to Galactica.

On the comm line, Bill cleared his throat. “Well, spit it out Bill,” she prompted teasingly.

“Admiral Cain is transferring half my crew to Pegasus. Including Lee.”

Laura took in a quick breath. Suddenly all her earlier doubts regarding Cain seemed justified again.

“Can she do that?” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to remind herself that  _Admiral_ Cain indeed could. “What I mean is,  _why_ would she want to do that?” she amended her question before Bill could reply. “I wasn’t aware that Pegasus was so understaffed, or at least not any more so than Galactica.”

The other end of the line remained quiet for a moment and Laura had just begun suspecting that the comm link had suddenly been cut off, when she finally heard the Commander take in a deep breath. Something about his delayed response filled her with concern.

“She’s the Admiral of the fleet…” he began at last, but Laura cut him off before he could launch into the politically correct answer she wasn’t interested in.

“Bill,” she interjected. Just the one word, but in a tone that signalled clearly that she was expecting more than a simple textbook response. They had already been through  too much  to waste any more time dancing around a difficult subject.

She heard him sigh again, this time in resignation. Then, in a low rumble, he started over: “Madam President, to put it plainly, I think she’s putting me on a short leash for now.”

It was Laura’s turn to pause. She did not like what she was hearing.

“She wants to establish her position as my superior,” Bill explained before Laura could formulate her thoughts into words. “Make sure I follow her orders without question, whether I like them or not.”

Laura listened, incredulous. It had taken her no time to understand that with Lee on Pegasus, under Admiral Cain’s surveillance and good will, the woman would always have leverage over Bill if necessary. All she would have to do was threaten the safety of his son at the slightest sign of disobedience and Bill would always st and down. Based on her brief acquaintance with the Admiral, Laura had no doubt that the woman would be capable of doing just that.

She wanted to ask Bill if he was going to mindlessly keep taking such potentially dangerous orders, but based on their earlier conversation on Galactica, she had been left in no doubt that Bill would. He was  dutiful  to a fault when it came to military protocol.

Still, she had to at least try. “Is there no leeway?” she asked in a resigned tone. “No room to negotiate?” She had met Admiral Cain. The woman hadn’t struck her as someone interested in negotiations.

Her question was followed by another slight pause which, in itself, was almost answer enough.

“Perhaps after the dust settles,” the Commander replied after a beat with little conviction. “Right now, I don’t think she has the highest opinion of me.”

To her surprise, Laura found herself feeling almost offended on Bill’s behalf. “Why not?” she asked sharply. “Does she not realize that you have kept almost 50,000 people alive for months now against all odds.”

“She read my logs, Laura,” Bill replied, finally dropping all formality. “The Olympic Carrier, Kobol...none of that is painting a very flattering picture of my competence as a Commander.”

Laura closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache coming.

“You let her read all that?” she asked, suddenly feeling very tired. “You actually  _wrote_ all that down in the log?” She could too easily picture Bill documenting in great detail everything that had gone wrong during the last few months while downplaying the things that had gone right, especially as far as his own achievements were concerned. 

“It’s the ship’s log,” Bill replied as if there was no other way of looking at it. “Every ship must have a log, and those books have to contain an unbiased account of everything that has happened.”

It was Laura’s turn to let out a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, ever suggest trying to sweep under a rug what had happened, but there was a difference between documenting events for posterity, and making oneself vulnerable to present day censure from those who did not have full understanding of the context.

The problem was she wasn’t sure how to communicate that to Bill.

When she remained silent, Bill continued: “I can’t be selective about what I enter into my logs. Nor can I refrain from granting Admiral Cain access to them if she asks.”

“No…no,” Laura replied, still in thought. “But perhaps…” she began carefully. “Perhaps every failure doesn’t have to be entered into the logs in quite so much  _detail_ .” She paused to take a breath, allowing Bill room to stop her if he would, but he remained silent. 

“I’m not saying to ignore the bad things that happen – the wrong decisions we make – or to let them vanish from history,” she continued. The little pieces of paper she carried in her pocket were no light burden. “We are accountable for our actions every day, Bill.”

When she paused for another breath, she heard a low rumble from the other end of the line that sounded almost like begrudging agreement.

“I’m not asking you to stop writing down everything,” she added in order to drive home her point. “But I have found that self-examination is usually best left in the confines of a  _personal_ journal – the kind that no superior officer needs to trouble their heads with.”

She could imagine Bill on the other end of the line, sitting at his desk, glaring at the comm unit base as if it could transmit his displeasure to her visually. What she was suggesting went against everything he believed about the absolute inviolability of the chain of command. But if there was anything he should have learned in the last few months, it’s that nothing…nothing… is inviolable anymore. They could no longer afford the luxury of absolutes.

At last she heard him blow out a resigned breath. “Maybe you’re right.”

She can’t resist a little prod, just enough to encourage his fighting spirit. “You know I am.”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Let’s not rub it in. I’ll attempt to be a little more circumspect with my phrasing in the future.”

“That’s all I’m suggesting,” she said, picking up her pen and scrawling her name across a requisition. “But Bill, please keep me informed on any other matters of this nature.”

He was silent for a moment and she began to anticipate another military protocol lecture. 

“Wilco,” he said instead, and the comm went dead in her ear.

The Commander had chosen a side.

***

_Chain of command. It exists everywhere. Even here she feels the call of those who cannot be ignored, urging her to leave behind the remnants of her previous life and board the vessel which will deliver her to the Fields of Elysium. And even here she rebels, preferring to remain the author of her own story. She will go, in good time, but she will not go alone._

_Gathering up the memory of her full red skirt in the memory of her hands, she joins her Admiral as he looks out over the land. If she concentrates, she can almost feel the wind._


	9. Chapter 9

_In her new form, Laura is still capable of experiencing emotions, but they’re different now, not so sharply defined, less keenly felt absent their physical manifestations. The production of tears, the tensing and relaxing of muscles, changes in respiration – all these things are foreign to her now, dampening the way she experiences sorrow, excitement, or fear._

_But other emotions seem to be less reliant on physical form and she finds these are, perhaps, more keenly felt than ever. Her love for Bill has not waned, despite her lack of a heart with which to feel it. And at the other extreme, her ability to feel frustration seems also to be unimpeded by her lack of a body. That, in itself, frustrates her._

_She imagines laughing now at that small irony, as she watches Bill from all directions simultaneously, above and below and all around, her supervision unnoticed and her advice unheeded. It continues to be one of the more difficult aspects to which she must acclimate in this new form of existence. When she lived, Bill had come to rely on her counsel regarding issues of life and death importance. Now she can no longer advise him on something as simple as how to care for the edible plants he is attempting to cultivate in his small garden plot._

_The fact that he shares her frustration is comforting only in its familiarity. She wishes, as she always has, that he could see what needs to be done without her pointing it out…but then, that’s not fair, really. He can always see; sometimes he just needs a push in the right direction._

_And, she realises when she sees him hold out his palms out to catch the falling rain she cannot feel, sometimes things take care of themselves without any assistance from her._

***

_Admiral Cain was dead._ The single thought had kept repeating in Laura’s mind over and over during her flight from Colonial One and still as she had made her way towards Bill’s quarters, followed closely by her own security detail as well as the two extra men Bill had sent to ensure her safety while the killer was still at large. At another time, Laura might have paused to smile at the gesture, maybe even teased Bill about it, but right now she was too preoccupied by the recent events to give it more than a passing thought as she settled down on his couch, silently accepting the drink he had already poured her.

It was good news. Laura could not bring herself to think of it as anything else, despite the circumstances, but even so she could feel her skin crawl unpleasantly at the realization that in some twisted way they now owed a debt of gratitude to a _Cylon_ for murdering an Admiral of the Colonial fleet - for succeeding in the same act that had almost cost Bill his life in a similar assassination attempt. Laura shuddered at the thought. How had they ever come to this? On paper nothing about it was right, and yet Cain's death, no matter how it had happened, had brought her relief that eclipsed even the guilt that would not entirely be silenced.

The world had gone mad indeed.

“What are you thinking?” She heard Bill’s raspy voice as he settled down on the couch next to her, much closer than he would have done even some weeks ago. It was another observation she would have to file away for later, or maybe for never, considering the speed at which her clock was now ticking. After all, the pain, weakness and nausea had become such constant companions to her lately that it was becoming difficult to tell the good days from the bad. Perhaps the trick was to simply accept she no longer had any good days ahead.

“I should go to the ceremony,” she replied after a beat, pushing aside the self-pity. She had been back and forth on the idea of attending the funeral of a woman she had wanted dead to begin with, but it was the proper thing to do, despite her personal feelings. “Her crew will appreciate the gesture,” she added as she brought her glass to her lips, staring absently at a bookshelf on the opposite wall.

Something like sadness that was not for Admiral Cain seemed to flicker in Bill’s eyes when she turned to look at him, but then he smiled and nodded his head. “Of course.” He waited a beat and then added. "I'll escort you personally. My transport is scheduled to leave in an hour. You can rest in my quarters until it's time to go," he offered in a tone that sounded almost like a gentle command.

"Thank you," she said without further comment, setting down her drink. She could not have argued against his offer even if she had wanted to. The walk from her ride to Bill’s quarters had nearly done her in for the day, and there was no denying that she needed the rest if she wished to remain upright at the funeral, but she felt loath to admit the truth to Bill. He had worries enough to contend with as it was.

A silence fell between them instead, but Laura could sense the comfortable nature of it as they both reflected wordlessly on everything that had lead them to this moment. The process felt so natural it was hard to fathom why it hadn’t always been so easy between them.

“It’s for the best, Bill,” she said at last, returning to the topic of Admiral Cain’s death. Even on reflection, she could find no other way of looking at it. “She was a threat to the civilian fleet.”

Bill grunted noncommittally, and Laura knew that was as close as she was going to get to his agreement. The truth, and they both knew it, was that they had dodged the bullet Helena Cain had not. The fleet would never had made its way to Earth under her leadership, not absent Laura’s influence, and possibly not even with it. 

The sudden, unexpected arrival of Pegasus had been a contingency she had failed to plan for, but that would not be a mistake she made twice. The odds of a third Colonial ship appearing from the ether seemed too miniscule to even contemplate, but Laura could not take the chance of anyone other than William Adama being in command of the fleet after she was gone.

And with that, half-formed musings solidified into a plan, one that could not wait for the optics of protocol. Abruptly, she stood up, only to have the deck tilt under her feet. Bill was at her side before she understood what was happening, one hand on her elbow, the other holding her around the waist.

“Are you all right, Madam President?” he asked, his voice rougher even than normal in his concern.

“I’m fine, Commander. I just stood up too fast, is all.” Which was true as far as it went, but she found she was having to breathe shallowly through her mouth in order to keep her last meal from making another appearance all over the Commander’s antique rug. “I think though, I may forgo attending the Admiral's send off after all.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Bill agreed readily, and while Laura had no doubt he was concerned for her wellbeing, she wondered if part of him didn’t prefer she stay away in any case.

That was fine. She had something she needed to discuss with Billy anyway.

“Would you like to stay here?” Bill’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Should I call for Cottle?”

Laura shook her head. As little as she was looking forward to even the short flight from Galactica to Colonial One, she would have to soldier through it. She had work to do and loose ends that needed to be tied while she still could.

Seeing the doubt on Bill’s face, she made an effort to stand a little straighter, freeing herself from the support of the Commander’s arms.

“I’m fine, truly,” she assured him. “Just shouldn’t have had that drink,” she added with a forced chuckle, attempting to joke away her queasiness.

Bill’s smile in return did not reach his eyes, but he expressed no further protests, extending her his arm instead.

“Then let me at least walk you to your Raptor,” he offered.

For a second Laura thought of refusing, not because she didn’t appreciate the offer, but because she would rather have shown Bill she still had the strength to walk out on her own two feet, but the thought of the long corridors of Galactica without a steady arm to lean on was enough to curb her pride.

Taking Bill’s offered arm, she looked up at him and smiled appreciatively.

“Thank you, Commander.”

***

_The afternoon shower passes soon enough, giving way again to the sun that comes out to provide energy and warmth to the ground touched by the rain. It’s a perfect balance that assures the continuation of life and growth, all on its own._

_It’s a strange sort of satisfaction, knowing once again that Bill will make it. It had given her comfort then, but somehow it still gives her comfort now, even as she knows that it will make her own wait longer._

_For now, he still belongs to Earth, and she would not have it any other way. They began this life apart and so they must end it apart. It is the next one that they will enter together, but not before he’s ready._


	10. Chapter 10

_Sometimes Bill wonders if he will ever finish the cabin._

_No matter how hard he throws himself into the endless labor, the progress is still slow – small triumphs followed by unforeseen setbacks that often put everything on hold until he can figure out a workaround. With no instruction manual to guide him, trial and error and time is all he has, combined with a steadfast conviction that this is what he has to do. For Laura, but also for himself, because it is the process of building the cabin that keeps him sane in his solitude - gives him something to channel his longing into._

_Even when he finds himself at a dead end, it is Laura's words that always echo in his mind, guiding him, encouraging him to keep going._

_"Never give up hope."_

_He can remember it like yesterday: a tremulous smile trying to mask the pain, seeking to reassure him when she had been the one suffering._

_The memory is bitter and sweet like all the others; the first sensations of what would become love, mingled with the grief of impending loss, but it is also a reminder that nothing is ever certain. Insurmountable odds can be defeated, and even death can be fooled occasionally._

***  
The beeping and flashing of the machines surrounding her told Bill little except that she still lived, and really, that was all the information he required. He sat beside her and fought the impulse to hold her hand, not because he thought she would object, but because all the other inhabitants of Life Station didn't need to see him showing such affection for anyone, not even a dying woman. It would make him feel soft in a way he had no time to contemplate just now.

Then again, perhaps she _would_ object, and for those same reasons.

 _You have to carry on, Bill. Find Earth for our people. Whatever it takes._ He heard her voice so clearly he looked up, expecting to find she’d awakened, but no, she was still motionless on the bed, eyes closed, skin deathly pale.

Cottle said she was sleeping, not yet at the critical point, but dying nonetheless. He had been warned in no uncertain terms not to wake her, for sleep was the only escape from pain she was permitting herself. As he watched, her face tensed and a quiet moan escaped from behind tightly clenched teeth.

An escape from the pain, his ass.

As if anyone would have begrudged her some relief from the pain that Bill could see etched in her every feature.

 _Stubborn to the last_ , he thought, shaking his head slightly as a sorrowful smile rose to his lips. It was a trait of hers that had often infuriated him in the past, and would probably have continued to infuriate him in the future, if given the opportunity, but now it only served to remind him of how narrow-minded he had been. He had seen the iron will and often resented it, but had been blind to almost everything beyond.

He had seen and loathed the President. Had for a while sneered at the Dying Leader. Had spent far too little time getting to know the woman herself until it was almost too late.

It felt almost absurd that now, after everything that had passed, all he could do to honor what they so recently had begun to build together was to let go and carry on without her.

And he would. For Laura, if nothing else.

Blinking back unexpected tears, Bill began to rise with renewed determination but was suddenly brought to a halt by the realization that he was being watched.

Laura had woken up.

“Hey,” he said, pulling his chair closer. “How do you feel?”

It was a ridiculous question, not worthy of an answer, and she gave it all the attention it deserved. “Water,” she requested, voice hoarse, her hand lifted shakily to gesture at the pitcher on the wheeled bed tray.

He pushed back his chair, stood, and walked around to the other side of the bed. After pouring a glass, he examined the bed futilely for a way to raise her up enough that she could drink without getting a faceful of water. Just as he was about to concede defeat and hoist her up bodily, she seemed to realise where he was stuck. After some fumbling, a small control box on a wire appeared from under the covers.

He watched as she struggled to operate the bed, soon realising to his horror, that she no longer had the strength to push the button.

When their eyes met, hers were sunken and dull, but dry. His were so full of moisture he dared not blink. Her hand fell away and he took over, swallowing the lump in his throat, and raising the bed without comment. When she was at about 45 degrees, he held the glass to her lips so she could drink.

After a couple of sips, she’d had enough and turned her head away, so he returned the glass to the tray and himself to the chair by the bed.

“Thank you, Admiral,” she said, several beats too late.

Bill could only nod his head in acknowledgement, not quite trusting his own voice not to betray him if he were to say anything.

For a moment, as he looked on, he had the distinct impression that she intended to say something more, but then a silence fell between them instead, broken only by Laura’s slow, labored breaths and the reassuringly constant bleeping of the monitor that tracked her heartbeat.

Perhaps whatever she had thought of saying hadn’t been anything important...or perhaps she simply did not have the strength to speak more than a few syllables.

The latter idea sent another wave of pain through Bill, and he quickly turned his head to the side to blink surreptitiously away the unwanted tears as he struggled to hold on to his stoic exterior.

Logically he knew there was little he could do for her well-being now, but if, as all likelihood seemed to indicate, this was the last time he would find her fully conscious, he wanted at least her parting memory of him to be that of the man she believed him to be. A man who could and would lead her people to Earth after she was gone. A man who would not break down at the prospect of her being gone.

If that was all he could do for her, after everything she had given to the fleet, then that was what he would do.

Taking in a deep breath, Bill hurriedly brushed the lingering moisture off his cheeks and then turned to look at Laura again. To his surprise, he found her smiling serenely at him.

“What?” he asked, her incongruous expression temporarily distracting him from his premature mourning.

“I was just thinking,” she said, voice clearer now, “about the day we met.”

He laughed at the unexpected memory, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. “I probably owe you an apology," he said. "I wasn’t in a very good mood that day.”

“Meh,” she said as if it didn’t matter. Her hand twitched in her lap as though she would have waved his words away, if only she had any strength to waste on gestures. “Neither was I. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

“So what were you thinking?” He remembered what he had been thinking very well and none of it had been flattering. How wrong he had been about her.

Wincing slightly, she tried to lean closer, as though to share a confidence. Realising what she was attempting to do, he met her more than halfway, pulling his chair closer to the bed until he knees touched the frame and his arms hung over the bedrails.

Her eyes were dancing with mischief now and he wanted, oh how he wanted, to reach out and take her hand, but he continued to hold himself in check, still mindful they weren’t truly alone.

“I was thinking how much fun it was to get under your skin, and how I wouldn’t mind having more time to chip away at that hard-assed military obstinacy of yours.”

He laughed quietly, not taking his eyes off hers. “Well, I guess you got your wish.” _At least for a little while_.

Laura let out a sound that almost passed for a laugh - a low chuckle that seemed to cost her more pain than it could possibly be worth - but at Bill’s concerned look, she only twitched her hand again and offered him a weak smile.

“Should be careful what I wish for, I know,” she sighed.

“But don’t worry, Bill,” she added after a beat before Bill could respond. A smile still played on her lips, but her words were growing drowsy. “I think I’m all out of wishes now.”

“Laura…” Bill started, but held his tongue as he saw that Laura’s eyes had fluttered shut and her breathing, though still laboured, seemed to be growing deeper and slower as she drifted off to sleep again.

The unexpected moment he had been granted with Laura had passed and Bill bent down his head in silent resignation.

Selfishly, he would have liked to hold her attention just a little bit longer, to see that sparkle in her eye just one more time, but rationally he knew she needed the rest more than any platitudes he could throw her way.

Nevertheless, he stayed put a little while longer, watching her chest rise and fall as he told himself he was only making sure she had truly fallen asleep. Then, with one more parting look and a whispered, “sleep well,” Bill finally stood up and strode out of the Life Station, continuing his brisk walk all the way to the CIC.

There was no time to grieve. He had, after all, a planet to find.

***

_Bill sighs as he wipes away the lone tear that has made its way down his cheek, unchecked. There’s no one to watch him now, no reason to hold back._

_He had not even loved her yet at that time. Not really. Not like he would later, like he does now, but even then it had been painful – the thought of life without Laura._

_“Turns out you weren’t out of wishes after all,” he speaks to the vast nothingness around him, letting out a quiet chuckle at the expense of his earlier, clueless self – preparing for the worst when the worst was still lightyears away._

_She had lived. They had found Earth, and they had found Earth again. The real Earth – the one they were always meant to find, against all odds and beyond all hope._

_And he would finish their cabin, too. Not today. Not this week. Maybe not even this month or year, but finish it he would._

_Because it was what he had promised to Laura.  
_


	11. Chapter 11

_Lacking the usual human tools for tracking the passage of time, Laura sometimes wonders how long, exactly, she’s been dead. There is no watch on her wrist, no calendar on her desk, no newspapers for her to reference. Her ties to the physical world are tenuous enough that she doesn’t trust in her ability to track the passage of seasons. And there’s no one to ask if she could, except for Bill, of course, but if he knows the answer to her question, he isn’t volunteering it._

_To her it feels like both seconds and an eternity, but Bill’s appearance suggests a length of time somewhere in between. For the first time in her perception, he resembles the Old Man he was once affectionately labelled. His hair is long, well past his collar now, and pure silver. His body is thinner; his clothing hangs from his shoulders like a coat on a rack. His face is leaner too, and partly obscured by a bristling silver beard. The only things that remains unchanged are his eyes, still startlingly blue in a face darkly tanned and deeply lined both by age and exposure to the sun of this planet._

_It’s his eyes she concentrates on. In them she can still find her Bill, can still read his thoughts and emotions the way she once read his books. She knows when he’s thinking about her, even when he doesn’t give it voice, as he so seldom had in the past._

_She doesn't fault him for that, of course, for not voicing his feelings sooner. They had had certain responsibilities. And of course, she had never shared hers either, about many things, until it was almost too late.  
_  
***

"Madam President?"

Laura lifted her head from the reports she had been perusing, just in time to find Billy poking his head through the curtain that separated her office space from the rest of Colonial One.

"Yes?" she asked, making an effort to sit a little straighter. She had made a remarkable recovery in only a few days, but there was no denying, at least to herself, that she still grew tired easily.

Admitting that to Billy, however, was a different matter. Laura had no intention of being told to rest now that she had finally been allowed to start catching up on the work she had missed.

"I'm fine," she replied dismissively to the unspoken question that hung in the air as Billy watched her adjust her position. "Did you have something for me?" She paused, allowing a smile to soften the look on her face. "More reports, perhaps?"

Billy shook his head. "No more reports today, Madam President," he replied, casting his eyes down. "I only came to check if your meeting with Admiral Adama was still on?"

The mention of Bill gave Laura pause. She had not seen or talked to him after being released from Life Station two days earlier, following her sudden and unlikely cure. But actually, barring one or two meetings by her bedside while she had been dying - meetings of which she only had hazy memories now - and a couple of more brief encounters after her getting better, they hadn't seen each other alone since she had made him an Admiral and he had...

"The Admiral is ready to board his Raptor but he wanted to make sure you were well enough to receive guests." Billy's words barely registered in Laura's mind as her fingers absentmindedly brushed against her lips.

"But I can see that you're tired, so perhaps..." he continued.

"No, no," Laura cut in quickly, her mind snapping back to the present. "Like I said, I'm fine," she added after a beat. "I'd like to get caught up with the state of the fleet as soon as possible. Let the Admiral know I'm waiting." 

***

When Bill arrived a short time later, Laura had finally reached the end of her paperwork. “Aha!” she exclaimed for Bill’s amusement when he approached her desk. “These reports actually aren’t inexhaustible after all!” She closed the final one with a flourish and dropped it on top of her “completed” pile.

Bill cleared his throat apologetically.

“Oh no,” she protested, catching the look of chagrin on his face. “Uh-uh. Don’t say it, don’t even think it.”

“My apologies, Madam President,” the Admiral said, pulling several thick file folders from behind his back. “Billy, ah, suggested I work my way up to these, but…” he shrugged and set them down on her desk. 

“But who has time for that,” she said, meeting his eyes and smiling.

Bill’s expression brightened in return, “You do. Now.”

Laura stiffened, fighting to keep the amused smile in place. Truth be told, she was still uncomfortable with that, both with the idea of having time and the reason for it. 

“I suppose I do,” she agreed at last, reaching for the folder on top of the pile Bill had placed on her desk. Perhaps she might as well start tackling the rest of it, now that she was on a roll.

Before she could grab the folder, however, Bill’s hand landed beside hers on top of the pile, stilling her actions.

“You _have_ time, Laura. You don’t have to do everything today,” he reminded her gently, fixing his eyes on her, searching, weighing. “Billy also said you’ve been working all day,” he added then, his fingers inching a little closer to Laura’s on top of the folder. “Seemed quite concerned that you were growing tired.”

“Oh, Billy,” Laura huffed, letting her hand fall from the pile of folders as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms a little self consciously. Then she smiled fondly, thinking of the young man who had been so attentive to her before and after her recovery. Sometimes too attentive, but always with the best of intentions. “He seems to think I’m still at death’s door.”

Bill’s lips curved into a smile, too, looking at Laura. “You were just a few days ago,” he pointed out.

She glanced up at Bill, raising her eyebrow slightly. “Not something I necessarily want to be reminded of constantly,” she retorted, a hint of playfulness in her voice aimed to disguise the underlying concerns she was not sure she was ready to discuss.

It was not the fact that she had been close to dying that bothered her – dying was something she had grown to accept towards the end – it was rather the nature of her cure that still made her skin crawl. She would rather throw herself to work than spend much time dwelling on it.

“Everything okay?” Bill’s voice voice was soft and his eyes still a mixture of concern and...something else.

“Of course,” she said brightly, very deliberately meeting his eyes. “What could be wrong?”

Bill snorted in disbelief and crossed his arms across his chest. “Try again.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, wondering how far he would choose to push her. Had she let him get too close during the last weeks of her illness? It was a rhetorical question; even as the words scrolled through her mind, she already knew the answer. She had. Of course she had.

But he wasn’t going to break, and she didn’t want to spend all of her newly gained time in a stare down with a pig-headed, granite-faced Admiral of the Colonial Fleet.

She exhaled and sat up straight in her seat, pulling her chair in closer to her desk and folding her hands on top of her paperwork. She could give him something here. It would even be true. Partially.

“I have some concerns about the…cure…I was given.”

Bill immediately dropped the hardass façade, morphing back into the gentle, caring man who had spent so much time sitting at her bedside. “Are you feeling okay? Should I call Cottle?”

He started to stand, but she waved him back down. “I’m fine, Bill. That’s not what I meant. It worked; the cancer is gone. I’ve never felt better. But at what cost?”

For a moment something like uncertainty seemed to flicker in Bill’s eyes and he looked uneasy as he settled back in his seat.

“Does it really matter?” he asked after a beat, looking first at his hands but then lifting his eyes to meet Laura’s.

She tilted her head as she met Bill’s gaze, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Did it matter? She was alive, after all, at least for now. She could continue the work she had started – could continue their quest for Earth but…

“It feels…wrong,” she said at last, shaking her head and then slumping a little in her chair as she tried to let her body relax.

“Gods, Bill,” she sighed before he could say anything. “Cylon blood...”

“Half-Cylon,” Bill corrected her gently. “Half-human.”

Laura cast him a stern look but said nothing, wondering if he expected his words to comfort her.

They did not.

“You would be dead without that blood,” Bill continued when she remained silent. His voice was steady, almost matter-of-fact, but his eyes bore deep into Laura’s, warm and searching. “Would you rather we did nothing to try to save you?”

And that was what it came down to, wasn’t it? Would she? The question was not a simple one to answer, though gods knew Laura had been trying ever since she was told what transpired. If the prophecy was true, if she really was the dying leader, what would happen now that she wasn’t dying after all? Would they never find Earth? Had Bill and Cottle and Baltar sacrificed every soul in the fleet so she could live longer than she was supposed to?

Or had she been delusional, dependant on a mind-altering substance, and all too willing to believe in something, anything, which would lend her death meaning?

These were the questions that haunted her every private moment, questions she couldn't share even with Bill, or perhaps especially with Bill. They had come a long way since their standoff over the Arrow of Apollo and subsequent adventures on Kobol, but she knew in his heart he was still mistrustful of anything not explained by science. He would never understand the fear that her cure may have cost the fleet everything.

Bill was looking at her, still waiting for an answer. She knew which one he wanted. He wanted to know he had chosen correctly, that she understood and agreed. To him it really was that simple. She was alive; nothing else mattered and she can’t deal with both his disappointment and her own. Neither of them matter anyway, not to the big picture. It was better for both of them if she pretended. She always was good at that.

She smiled. “Of course not.”

Bill looked at her for a moment with something like suspicion wavering in his eyes, but when Laura met his gaze unflinchingly, his rigid shoulders finally seemed to relax and he let out an almost inaudible breath.

“Good,” he said at last, turning away briefly to find himself a seat. “I’m glad to hear to it,” he added over his shoulder.

Laura watched with a tilted head as Bill took his time to settle into one of the plush first class seats opposite her desk, wondering if he had actually believed her or simply chosen to let the matter rest. If she had to guess, she was inclined to pick the latter.

They had come better at that, too: reading each other - judging when to push and when to pull away. This, she believed, was Bill pulling away.

“So…” She cleared her throat at last, briskly opening the first folder she had grabbed. “Fuel reports, huh?”

She smiled at Bill over the rim of her glasses and was pleased to find him smiling back at her, the unspoken words not forgotten but pushed away for the moment to make way for more pressing matters of the fleet.

“Talk to me, Bill,” she continued in an almost playful tone that she hoped would mask the turmoil she still felt inside. “How many more FTL jumps can we afford, or are we doomed to orbiting this latest gas giant for all of eternity, hmm?”

***  
 __  
Tinkling chimes echo through the wind as Laura of the present laughs to herself at the memory of her past tribulations. Such self-importance! As if anything she chose in life, or anything that was chosen for her, meant much at all in the grand workings of the universe. All this has happened before and all this will happen again. Her old self, with the arrogance of the child she was, had no real understanding of what that truly meant.

_Seated on a hard ridge of granite, Bill raises his head. A smile crosses his craggy features as he listens in rapt attention, and the wind her laughter has created ruffles through his hair._


End file.
